Flames of Justice
by TUPilot
Summary: Bethany is forced to accept help from an unlikely source, and soon old friends are pitted against one another in a battle that may force one Angel to make the ultimate choice: save the life of the Scions or spend eternity in hell.
1. Prologue: From the Fire

**Author's Notes**_(updated 25 April, 2006)_

If you find this long-winded introduction a bit boring, please go ahead to the story!

The characters and original concept of Dogma are not mine, and credit for the idea behind this work lies fully with Kevin Smith.

I've watched Dogma several times over the past few weeks (a few select scenes several dozen times) as I tried to better understand the characters. I've also done a bit of background research to try and create a more interesting tale. If anyone has suggestions on how to improve, I look forward to hearing them.

We begin in the depths of Hell, with what I hope is the start of a suspenseful and surprise-filled story.

By the way, some of the characters and such don't show up until a few chapters in—so all you Bartleby and Loki fans don't worry—they are coming.

Please read and review!

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**Prologue**

It was a strange sensation. Almost all things become more tolerable with time. Odors become less noticeable as the senses acclimate to them. The loud noises of a jet engine seem to fade into the background after hours of exposure. Even hunger and fatigue can be pushed to the back of the subconscious where they still exist, but no longer influence the mind.

But pain—pain was different. The incision of a sword or breaking of bones hurt more now than it had during their first years of torture. Hell was agony that could not be expressed, a circular existence of terror that saw flesh brutally ripped from the bone and then reattached, only to be torn free once more.

But the captors were too cruel to resort to pain alone. They did all that could be done to induce fear. Pain was physical, and no matter how terrible it became, only fear could attack the inner core of one's being.

For this reason, the most wicked of sinners were periodically allowed to roam freely through the bowels of hell, forever wondering when the next physical assault would take place. The break from torture was anything but a reprieve, as the victims were constantly surrounded by the smell of death and the screams of the wounded which permeated throughout the land of darkness. They rarely lasted long, though it was impossible to measure the passage of time in Hell.

Nonetheless, on this day it was long enough for them.


	2. Chapter 1: As the Skies Fall

Chapter One:

The rain was relentlessly pounding the shingles, creating a dull roar in the house that was just loud enough to impede normal conversation. The heavy rains had continued unabated for most of the day, and a steady stream of water ran along the sides of the road. An occasional rumble of thunder forced itself through the sound of the falling water, but the sound was distant and the lightning itself was all but invisible on the horizon.

It was only 7:00pm, but the gray sky was already making Bethany Sloan drowsy. She starred quietly out of the kitchen window, missing the days when young Grace was always home in the evenings. At 13 years old, her daughter was more interested in playing games with her friends than satisfying her mother's need for companionship. Still, she would be home shortly, and then the family would be complete again—or as complete as it could be.

To Grace, the family never seemed complete. She never understood the factors that had surrounded her birth, and Bethany had never seen it fit to discuss them with her. The result was Grace never knew her father, a father she longed to have. One day she would learn that her father had always been there for her, an omnipotent presence who cared more deeply about Grace than almost any other thing in existence. But it was tough enough for a middle schooler to grow up with one parent—to grow up knowing that their father had created all existence would be a truly unfair hardship.

Bethany recalled when she had first learned about her heritage. Rufus, the Thirteenth Apostle had explained that she was both blessed and cursed, a woman of the most divine of heritages and burdened by the responsibility of being the last Scion, the last relative of the Lord Jesus Christ. With the Creator, him or herself, incapacitated, it had fallen to Bethany to prevent two banished angels from returning to heaven. Had the pair been able to reenter, they would have negated God's order that had forced them to reside on earth of millennia. This would have challenged the infallibility of the Almighty, and in doing so, destroyed all existence.

The knowledge of who she was, and what she might one day be asked to accomplish, were things that Grace should not be burdened with until she needed to know.

Bethany was jerked out of her thoughts not by a sound, but by the lack of one. The pouring rain had stopped abruptly, almost as if someone had turned of a hose. Looking out the window she could still see fat raindrops falling only a few hundred feet away, but the roar of water splashing against her roof had fallen silent. Seconds later she heard a knock at the front of her house as an unknown hand rapped firmly against the inexpensive metal door. Bethany assumed it was Grace, and was a bit disturbed she had lost her key again. The lock had already been re-drilled four times in the past three years, but Grace still needed access to the house when Bethany was at work.

She whipped open the door and stood for a moment in total silence. Before her, covered in dark robes, stood the Metatron. She had not seen the angel, known by many as the Voice of God, since he had returned to heaven after the ordeal of 14 years ago. Now he was back, and Bethany could only pray he was here for her and not Grace. Grace was not yet ready to be shouldered with the responsibilities of being the last Scion, and she wouldn't let anyone force her into allowing her little girl into harms way.

The Metatron waited for a moment, wisely allowing Bethany several seconds to conceive the significance of his visit. A visit from Metatron was all but a visit from the Almighty, and Bethany knew the Seraphim wasn't here for trivial reasons.

"What, what are you doing here?"

"I think we'd better adjourn to a location where we can speak privately," Metatron said, his voice decidedly serious. Bethany braced herself to be whisked away to another location, but the Metatrone merely asked that he be let inside. Evidently the Voice of God no longer felt the need to impress her.

Motioning the angel to the kitchen, she slipped into a seat behind a small breakfast table. Metatron did the same, and as he entered the well-lit kitchen Bethany was startled by how grim his face appeared. He stared at her for many seconds, until the silence grew to long for Bethany.

"Why are you here?"

"How about that, we nearly go through the apocalypse together and I can't even get a 'good to see you'."

Bethany flinched. She owed her life to the Metatron; indeed, the world owed its existence to him. It was he that first set her on her world-saving quest, and it was he who's words reinvigorated her as she coped with the shock of her heritage. Nonetheless, his quirky temper was not something she enjoyed.

"I'm sorry, it's just quite a surprise to see you. It's been so long."

"You knew I was going to return—after all, you are the caretaker of the last Scion. Not to mention a Scion yourself you know."

"You aren't here for Grace, are you? She's too young to go through—"

"Relax, she has no quest as of this time. Nonetheless, she must be protected for the future, and that is the reason for my visit."

"You mean she's in danger?" Bethany asked, her body feeling a twinge of pain run through her body. She had always known being the last Scion put Grace at risk, but for fourteen years that had taken a back seat to the other pressures of life. But now, now the Metatron was insinuating that powerful forces wanted to harm her little girl; powerful forces that were not constrained by traditional mortal bounds.

"I'm afraid that you both are."


	3. Chapter 2: Return of the Prophets

As you can see below, the introduction of the following characters is why I rated this "T". Chances are if you liked the movie enough to get online and read a fan fiction, this probably won't bother you, but just in case---be prepared for some foul language.

And yes, there will be more Angels along shortly…

Chapter Two:

"…and this is my Hetero Life mate, Silent Bob."

"Well, Jay, you and Silent Bob can just go ahead and split this fine," the State Trooper responded dully.

"What the fuck, man? We were just running in to buy some shit. We couldn't of been gone more then ten fucking minutes!"

"I'm going to need to ask you to calm down sir," the officer replied, his hand moving slightly in the direction of his night stick. "You are parked in a fire zone, and Illinois State Law enacts a fine not to exceed $200."

"Two-hundred fucking dollars? I don't have that kind of dough just lying around? What the fuck is wrong with you people? Its not like there was a fucking fire!"

"Sir, if you don't tone down your language immediately—"

"You'll do what, put us in a fucking jail? There is no fucking law that says saying fuck to a fucking police office is illegal."

"Allright, wiseass. You want to play hardball, open up your trunk."

"What the shit?"

"I said open your trunk."

Jay slumped a bit and handed his keys to the officer before turning to Bob. "I told you we should have hidden our stash better," Jay quipped as he heard the officer popping the trunk. "How the fuck did he know we had weed in there?"

"It wasn't as tough as it might seem," the trooper answered, rolling his eyes. "Come on, you and Big Boy are going with me."

Silent Bob was characteristically quiet, watching in dismay as his friend managed to go from parking ticket to prison term. He listened carefully as Jay continued to protest before finally deciding enough was enough. "Just go."

"Damnit Bob, why can't you just shut the hell up and let me deal with this shit. I know what I'm doing." Bob shrugged.

"I want you to put your hands behind your head," the trooper said as he pulled a pair of handcuffs of his utility belt.

"No way dude, I know what sort of shit you're planning and it ain't going to happen."

"So you want to add resisting arrest to your record?"

"No, I want to add kicking your fucking ass," Jay yelled as he lunged at the officer.

"What sort of danger?" Bethany demanded, knowing full well that the Metatron would tell her when he wanted to, no sooner, no later. Hopefully his unexpected visit meant now was the time.

"It appears that several residents of the underworld have escaped from the grasp of Lucifer and made their way to Earth."

"How? Why?"

The Metatron rolled his eyes slightly. "As for the how, I don't happen to know. Lucifer might not be anywhere an equal to the one true God, but he still can mess around with us from time to time. For the why, well, I can't say I've ever gone in," Metatron said, his voice gradually rising in volume, "but rumor has it Hell's the kind of place most people don't want to be!"

"So, why does this concern me though? Its happened before, hasn't it?"

"Those attempting to appeal to the twisted logic of Lucifer look for ways to make themselves greater in his eyes. We believe that one of the goals they wish to achieve is the destruction of the Scions."

"So you don't know who the hell it is or how the hell they got here, but you assume I'm their target?"

"We can't say for certain, but risk is far too great not to inform you. We will also be providing you with a bodyguard of sorts."

"A bodyguard now? When does he get here and who is he?"

"He will reveal himself in due time Bethany. Right now you must focus on what you can do to protect yourself and young Grace. The prophets shall provide you a shield until divine help arrives."

Bethany's eyes opened wide with disbelief. "You are telling me that my baby is in mortal danger from forces of Satan and the best you can do is Jay and Silent Bob?" By the end of the tirade, the dominant trait of her voice had shifted from shock to anger.

"The prophets have protected you before, and they shall do so again."

"Why don't you come down here and help out for a while?"

"Please, a Seraph as a bodyguard? Not only would it be utterly degrading, but I'm afraid we of the higher choirs are not well adapted this kind of work. No, the Almighty will be sending you a Domination."

"The highest of level of the second choir," Bethany spat out.

"I'm glad to see you've taken some time to read about this," the Metatron responded. Bethany couldn't tell if the angel was being sarcastic or serious.

"Alright, so how do I get ahold of Jay and Silent Bob then—I haven't even spoken with them in four years."

"Ahh, never took the foul-mouth up on his offer. You people, if you had any idea what it was like not to have sex, you would be trying for it at every opportunity."

"Jay is living proof some of us do. Now, if you will answer—"

A ringing phone interrupted the conversation. Initially Bethany ignored it, but Metatron motioned her to answer. Standing slowly, she reached over to the counter and hastily lifted the receiver to her ear.

"Hello?"

A familiar voice echoed through the line. "Yo Bethany, what's up?"

It took only a moment for Bethany to recompile her thoughts after the shock that Jay was on the phone, but she still regretted the awkward silence—It gave Jay an excuse to keep talking.

"So you see, me and Bob are trying to score ourselves some booze when the shithole pig pulls up and gives us a ticket. Well, I don't see why I can't leave my fucking car in the fucking firelane for five fucking minutes. So anyway, I gave the dude a piece of my mind, and let me tell you I represented on his ass. But by that time we had a couple other cops there, and, well… I kind of need five-grand."

"You are in jail?" Bethany gasped, then turned to Metatron. She placed her hand over the receiver, effectively muting the transmission to the other line. "Is this God's plan for getting us back together?"

"Oh, no. This is all them. She just made sure they got bail."


	4. Chapter 3: From the Shadows

Author's notes: I think things will get more interesting from here on out. I'm getting to the part I really looked forward to writing, so stay tuned. As always, reviews are appreciated if you have a few seconds to spare!

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Bethany starred ahead blankly, her jaw hanging slightly open. The only sound was the TV program Bob and Jay were watching in the den. The jovial nature of the soundtrack contrasted sharply with the expression on Bethany's face. "You did just say Angel of Death?"

"You see? This is why I didn't want to say anything. I knew you would overreact."

"Overreact? You are telling me that I'm to be protected by someone who was involved in a plot to end existence!"

"I did say Angel of Death, not Loki, in case you hadn't noticed."

A glimmer of hope ran through Bethany's eyes. "Are you saying there is a new Angel of Death?"

"No, but my point is, your jumping to an assumption there is no different than your assumption that Loki is unsafe. The Almighty has great faith in his loyalty and ability."

"How does that even work? I thought Loki was banned from ever returning to Heaven? By having him as the Angel of Death again—doesn't that prove God wrong?"

The Metatron shook his head. "The will of the Creator is never wrong. If she so desires that an Angel return to heaven, it shall be done."

Bethany continued to look perplexed. "But God said he may never return to heaven."

The ringing of the phone interrupted the conversation before Bethany could compel the Metatron to release further details about how the fallen angel had cleared himself of sin.

"Hello?"

"Hi mom!" came the reply.

"Grace, honey, where are you? It's almost eight o'clock."

"I know mom. Can I stay at Tracey's house tonight?"

Given the current situation there was no way Bethany was going to let her daughter out of her sight, even for an evening. "I'm sorry honey, but you need to come home tonight."

"But mom!"

"Don't 'but mom' me," Bethany replied, "I've already let you stay out later than you should have. Now please Grace, it's very important you come right home."

Her daughter reluctantly acquiesced to Bethany's request, telling her she would say goodbye to her friend and then head home.

The walk from Tracey's house to the Sloan residence was barely ten minutes in length, but to Bethany those ten minutes passed as slowly as days. She kept wondering if she should have offered to drive her daughter home.

After a short eternity, the sound of a key pushing a heavy bolt aside sent Bethany running for the front door. As she ran, it finally crossed her mind what was about to happen: Grace was going to find out who she really was. Her daughter's world was about to be turned upside down as she met the Metatron and the Prophets, and eventually one of the very Angels that had inadvertently brought about Grace's existence.

Bethany ripped the door open, pulling her daughter quickly into the house. As she wrapped her arms tightly around Grace, Bethany's eyes caught a glimpse of a shadowy figured. Slowly she released her daughter from the embrace and stood up to her full height. There, leaning against her mailbox and staring straight at her was man, his distinct features obscured by the darkness of the night.

The dark figure slowly walked forward. Bethany felt the Metatron gently grip her shoulder, his presence strangely calming. After several steps the dark man finally stepped into the glow of Bethany's porch light, revealing his pale complexion, blue eyes, and light brown hair. Bethany felt her breath become fast and shallow as she stood transfixed by a being she thought had long since been condemned to Hell.

"I see you remember me," Loki said, stopping at a respectful distance. He bowed his head slightly, the hooded black blazer he wore flapping slightly in the wind. He stood silently, looking authoritative for several seconds but beginning to shift uneasily as the silence dragged on. Bethany finally broke her eyes away from Loki and glanced back at Metatron, who nodded his head slowly.

"You're… an Angel… _again_?"

"I told you he was did I not? Is he going to need to sprout his wings or drop his pants to prove that to you? I doubt either of those would elicit a positive response from your neighbors," Metatron interjected smugly.

Loki took two steps forward, closing within three feet of Bethany. Before she could reply, Grace asked what was going on. "Mom, who are these people? Is everything ok? Did you say Angel?"

Bethany had been so startled she had completely forgotten to avoid speaking about Angels in front of her daughter. It would be only a few hours before young Grace discovered who all of these beings were, and more importantly, who she was. Nonetheless, Bethany wanted it to be an enlightening experience, not an accident. "Everything is fine, these are just few people mommy worked with a while ago. Run up to your room and we'll talk about it in just a bit."

Grace started to protest, but quickly saw her mother was in no mood for an argument. The Last Scion reluctantly retreated upstairs.

There were several seconds of silence before an impatient Angel of Death spoke: "So, um, did you want to just stay out here or do you think we might be able to work something out involving a chair?"

"Loki!" Metatron yelled, "What is wrong with you? I told you this was going to be traumatic for her and you had to be respectful."

"It wasn't working."

"Give it more time," he said, turning back to Bethany. "The fool does bring up a good point though; it is quite chilly out here." Bethany nodded in submission and motioned Loki inside.


	5. Chapter 4: Retrospective

Once again, only the sound of the television permeated the house. Bethany stared blankly at the angel sitting in her kitchen, her mind swimming in confusion. For fourteen years she had struggled to put that face out of her mind, and for fourteen years she had failed. Now it was sitting before her—looking very uncomfortable himself. The Angel's skin was decidedly pale, and she could tell his breathing was ever so slightly irregular.

Finally, Bethany summoned the courage to speak. "You, you killed… so many people. You murdered them. And now… now I'm just supposed to trust you? Trust you with the life of my daughter?"

Loki's brow furrowed in frustration, "I thought you'd figured that part out," he said, shaking his head slowly back and forth. "The random killings and all, that wasn't-"

Jay cut him off "Hey, Bethany. You got some beer or shit around this place?" he announced as he entered the kitchen, Silent Bob in tow. Upon spotting Loki he paused for a split second, then grabbed a folding chair and lunged towards the Angel of Death. "Kill that mothafucker!"

Loki was caught off guard, and Jay's first swing with the chair impacted the right side of his head, forcing it to snap violently to the left. The Angel's skin was undamaged by the assault, but it was clear from the horrible expression on his face that the blow hurt terribly. A second swing hit the angel's chest, causing him to tumble forward in pain.

Loki slid to the floor, his breathing short and raspy. His eyes were burning with pain, the blue color glowing with a strange reddish tint. Jay raised the chair once again, aiming squarely for the top of the collapsed angel's head. By this time Bethany was at his side, attempting to wrestle the chair from his hands.

At the same time, Silent Bob had found something he considered a suitable weapon, and attacked the Angel with a massive leather-bound bible. He brought the eight-pound book down squarely on Loki's chest, forcing out what little breath was left in his lungs. Bob attacked a second time, slapping Loki across the face with the heavy book. He then moved aside to clear the way for Jay to strike.

Jay had kept his grasp on the chair, but Bethany was able to pull the impromptu club far enough to the right to avoid Loki's head. Instead, the Angel of Death took a heavy blow in the shoulder, snapping his spine around to the right and landing him prostrate on the floor. Before Jay could take a fourth swing, Bethany managed to wrest the chair from his hands. "Stop, you fucking asshole, stop!"

Jay took several steps back, bumping into Silent Bob whom himself was looking squarely at Bethany in confusion.

"You want me to stop? What the shit is going on here?" Jay demanded.

A furious Metatron glared at them. "I think it is best that the two of you leave," he said in a quiet but deadly serious tone. Neither Jay nor Bob moved.

"Listen, dude, you c-"

"NOW!" the Voice of God bellowed, his voice echoing through the small house as if it were a concert hall.

Jay shrugged and turned to leave. "Motherfucking angel shit… hey, what about those brews?" His question was answered with a cold stare from both Bethany and the Metatron. Jay acquiesced to their demands without further protest, reluctantly leaving without the beer they craved.

Loki groaned in pain, moving slightly in an attempt to reach a seatied position. With great effort he flipped himself over and pulled his torso close enough to the dishwasher that he could prop himself up against it. Bethany surveyed the fallen angel, noting that despite the beating there were no discernable bruises or blood stains on him, his clothing, or the floor. It was possible that injuries were concealed under his black coat and red t-shirt, but Bethany realized it was much more likely the Angel hadn't been seriously hurt.

"Really he's quite lucky, a beating like that would have almost certainly sent the average human to the hospital, but it's merely an inconvenience for an Angel," Metatron interrupted, sensing Bethany's curiosity.

"You know what? Fuck you man," Loki stammered, trying in vain to get to his feet. "Angel or not, that hurts like hell." He fell back to the floor, weakly letting his head settle onto the white tile. His jaw was clenched tightly shut, his eyes closed as he murmured softly. As the Angel sat there, helpless before her, Bethany could not help but feel sorry for him.

"He'll be fine in another hour or so, no permanent damage," Metatron stated in an effort to allay any concerns Bethany might have had over Loki's pain. "Meanwhile, now that he has _finally_ arrived, it is time for me to take my leave."

Bethany's remorse for the beaten angel abruptly ended. "What do you mean take your leave?"

"I must go where my services are needed," Metatron replied almost majestically, adding in a less serious tone "it's not like I'm going to hang around here and have a Guinness."

Bethany started to protest, but the Voice of God was already gone, leaving her with her thirteen-year old daughter, a pair of drug dealing prophets, and a murderous angel whom, with the help of his friend, had tried to end all existence.

The tension on Loki's face slowly dissipated, and Bethany could see he was already feeling better. He didn't move for several minutes, and finally Bethany felt she had to do something.

"How? How are you here?"

"Hmm," Loki murmured, pivoting his head to lock eyes with Bethany.

"You were banned from heaven—you killed so many—how could you not be in hell?"

"Come on, don't you even remember what happened. That whole thing wasn't even my idea! I just—" Loki looked down and closed her eyes. "Do you know what its like to be separated from the home you love for millennia?"

His voice was strained, but this time not from the physical pain. It was the first time she could recall ever hearing sadness—true sadness, in the voice of an Angel.

"I just wanted to go home," Loki continued after taking a moment to compose himself. "I never wanted to hurt anyone… I just wanted to go home."

The Angel of Death slowly rose to his feet, waves of pain rolling across his smooth, pale face. He limped over to a chair at the table and sat again, leaning forward and using his right elbow to prop up his torso.

Bethany looked at him in disbelief. "Not hurt anyone? You killed so many people! You murdered them!" She was caught of guard by the ferocity of her voice, as was Loki.

"That was HIM! I do not murder people," Loki responded, his own voice rising. "I only kill in the name of God, and I alone kill in the name of God!"

"So all of those parishioners, they were all sinners who deserved to die?"

"Some, yeah." He let his head slowly drop, his eyes focusing on the table.

"And all the others that died?"

"Hey, you can't blame me for what he did. He was out of his mind—he lost it. He totally fucking lost it. And nothing short of the almighty himself could have stopped him."

"Lucky she showed up," Bethany quipped. "So what about the others?"

"Huh?" he asked as his head abruptly snapped upwards, staring directly at the Last Scion.

"You went on a killing spree the whole way from Wisconsin to here."

Loki rolled his eyes. "Jesus… it was just a few people. Lighten up, will ya? How do you know about that anyway?"

Bethany walked over to the stove and reached into a small cabinet that sat above it, producing a small metal box. Returning to the table, she pried off the lid and pulled out an aged piece of newspaper. She handed it to the angel.

"Hey-eh, that looks just like me," Loki said as he studied the sketch that accompanied a rather lengthy article. He squinted briefly, then added "does my nose really look that big?"

"That's a police sketch. It's based on the description of a passenger on Palasti Bus 47 to Chicago. Seems like you got a little trigger happy there."

"Oh, come on—you can't blame a guy for doing his job!"

"Your job, what job… killing people?"

"I guess you hadn't heard: I'm the fucking Angel of Death. If they are commandment breakers, I hit em. End of story."

Bethany pulled out another article, tossing it onto the table. "And I suppose the board of the Complex Corporation deserved to die too?"

"Come on, even you should see that one. Idolatry—duh… raising an image that detracts from the lord."

"You think a cartoon cow detracts from the Almighty?" Bethany asked, confused how an Angel could determine that a Kid's show took worship from God.

"With a good enough marketing campaign, sure. Anyway, it's not like that was the only thing they did. You don't often get a collection of sick bastards like that in a room together."

"Yeah, and you really made the world a better place, didn't you?" Bethany pulled out another article. "Read that."

"What? Why?"

"Read it damnit," Bethany screamed.

"Alright, lady. Damn. What crawled up your ass?" He picked up the crinkled paper. "Chief Financial Officer Samantha Price retires from Complex Corporation. Citing her continued personal trauma and family issues, Samantha Price announced today she would be leaving the employ of the Complex Corporation effective immediately.

"Ms. Price was the sole survivor of the infamous 'Mooby Massacre' in which two unidentified assailants murdered seven members of the Complex board of directors. Ms. Price took a two month leave to seek psychiatric help following the tragedy. During that time, a court ruled that she was mentally unfit to care for her nine year old daughter and awarded full custody of Meghan Price to Ms. Price's former husband, Robert Franklin." Loki looked up. "Is this going somewhere, cause I don't really see the point."

"You ruined her life you asshole! She lost everything. Her kid, her job, her dignity. Everything. She has been living in an isolated part of Colorado for seven years now. You might not of killed her, but you came damn close."

"So this is supposed to make me, like, feel sorry for her or something? Feel bad about what I did? Trust me, she's lucky she got the deal she did."

"I know, you go to A4 and it says you threatened to kill her because she didn't say God bless you when you sneezed."

"Really? I didn't even remember that," Loki responded with a bit of a smile.

"You think that's funny you son of a bitch?"

"No, just kind of cool to be quoted in the New York Times."

"You are perverse… Well as long as you have a hard on for your name in lights, why don't you check out the rest of these," Bethany yelled, dumping the metal box on its back and releasing a torrent of paper clippings. "Its all there—forty-nine articles I found about you fucks. You know how many people's lives you ruined? After the sketch got around a woman in Milwaukee came forward, said she saw the two of you at the airport and you said something about killing people."

"And?"

"And she fell into a chronic depression, constantly believing that if she had reported what you said she could have stopped the killings. She's tried to kill herself—twice."

"Well, obviously she wasn't very good at it. Now, can I explain this to you, or would you rather keep going?"

"What's to explain?"

"We wanted to get back on his good side, you know? Do some repenting and all. I know what I'm good at, so I figured why not take out a few adulterers, a few idolaters, a few immoral shits? Well, we did, and you know what—I don't regret it. I can't. Those are the commandments, that's the way the cookie crumbles. That is the way he _wants it, _the way_ he made it_.

"Now, of course, the one thing I do regret is not trying to stop Bartleby sooner. But I did try to stop him. Do you remember that?"

Bethany starred at Loki for a moment, recalling how, wings removed and in human form a very inebriated Loki had approached Bartleby after the Gregoriate had announced his intention to end existence.

"You let him cut off your wings and got yourself trashed? I remember that. What the hell kind of Angel puts getting a buzz above the future of existence?"

Loki shook is head slowly. "I'd already stood up to the prick once cause I didn't think the Apostle would be getting involved in this unless there was something serious going on, but I had no fucking idea what was actually going to happen until watcher-boy spouted it out in front of the church. And you know what? I was drunk, I was human, but I knew damn well what I had to do, and I tried. And he saw that!"

Bethany force herself to put past feelings aside and look at the situation objectively. Loki's unsuccessful attempt to stop Bartleby really was a sign that he never intended to go against the Lord. His heart was pure, even if his mind was flaky. She had seen that, and she had returned him to Heaven for it.

"So that's why she let you back in, isn't it?"

"Pretty much." Loki looked directly at her, then at the refrigerator. "You know, Jay was right—some beers would be nice about now."

Bethany furrowed her brow. "Beer, but—you can't drink, can you?"

"I can taste just fine."

"So you want to sip some beer, swig it around your mouth a bit, then spit it back into the glass?"

"Well, I was hoping for second glass for the spitting part, but pretty much—yeah," he answered, shrugging his shoulders in a casual fasion.

"You realize how hideously disgusting that is, don't you?"

"Hey, what you do with your used beer ain't too pretty either lady."

"Yeah, but not at the table—with other people!"

"But taking a piss on someone's head is just fine?"

Bethany was taken aback. "How the hell do you know about that?"

"You learn that sort of thing after hanging around with a gregoriate for a few thousand years."

Bethany walked to the refrigerator and produced a chilled six-pack, dropping it on the table in front of the Angel. She then proceeded to grab a glass from the cupboard she handed to Loki. "Let's not make this disgusting practice a habit, ok?"

Loki gave her a cold stare but didn't answer.

"So you're here—what happened to that fuck you hung out with?"

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Author's Notes:

Thanks for reading this far, and a special thank you to those that reviewed. I hope if you have the time and found this interesting you'll take the time to let me know!

This was in many ways the chapter that inspired the work—I had this idea one night about Loki and Bethany discussing the events of the past and basically developed the rest of the plot around it (trust me, the plot has evolved far beyond that first concept, but it set things in motion). I don't think this chapter is quite as good as I envisioned it, but I believe it still captures the original concept.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed, and stay tune for the appearance of some bad guys!


	6. Chapter 5: Princess Royale

And now a view from the darker side... Thanks again for reading. I'm hoping to get some more reviews, so if you have the time I'd really appreciate you sharing your thoughts!

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A stiff wind was blowing off the ocean, carrying a salty scent across the narrow strip of land known as Ocean City, Maryland. A mix of towering hotels and ageing homes, the city was alive with activity despite the cooler than normal temperatures.

The Princess Royale was one of the more impressive structures on the isthmus, its massive atrium encasing an Olympic sized swimming pool and well-stocked bar. Nonetheless, the building was showing its age. Pressure applied by newer hotels had forced the Princess Royale to lower its prices, and the once premium institution had slipped to become yet another low-cost option for vacationing families.

The indoor pool was crowded with young children, many of them screaming excitedly and irritating bar patron's who had been hoping to enjoy a relaxing drink in the tropical atmosphere of the giant glass structure.

For most people the loud children were merely an annoyance, but for Azrael they were a constant reminder of happiness and joy—two things that pained him tremendously. It had been thousands of years since he had had the opportunity to experience those emotions, and here were toddlers, practically in ecstasy, indulging themselves in all a large pool had to offer. They knew nothing of the world. They knew nothing of existence. Their own ignorance shielded them from the terrible truths Azrael lived with, and for this he despised them.

Given the opportunity, the demon would have gladly slaughtered the dozens of small children, giving them a taste of what true misery was. But doing so would jeopardize his plans, and so he waited.

He spotted who he was looking for exiting the stairwell at the far side of the great hall and waved is hand without enthusiasm. The figure approached him, clad in a finely tailored black suite with an elegant hat reminiscent of the type worn by the stereotypical image of a detective. Azrael's white suit had contrasted slightly with the casual attire found at the Princess Royale, but his partners dark clothes looked decidedly out of place.

"I'm glad you finally made it," the demon said, casually turning his head to lock eyes with the approaching being.

"It's not like I had anywhere better to go," Bartleby replied as he slid into the chair opposite Azrael.

"I assume you've heard what the Good Lord has been up to?" Azrael inquired, emphasizing 'Good Lord' with a decidedly sour tone.

"No, I can't say I have. I'm guessing whatever it is its going to fuck up our plans a bit?"

"I wouldn't go that far, but it certainly makes things more complicated. An old friend of yours has been dispatched to protect the Scions."

"Loki?" Bartleby asked in disbelief. His emotions raged like a storm—part of him wanted to cease their sinister plan immediately rather than be forced to take on his old friend, but he also felt a rising desire to punish Loki. After all, the little idiot had been involved in the same plot to end existence as Bartleby, but had been reinstated as an angel. Bartleby, on the other hand, had spent the better part of fourteen years burning in the inferno of hell, suffering constant torture, and coming to terms with the demonic spines that now adorned his forehead. It wasn't fair, but fate had just conspired to let him bring the angel to justice and make him pay alongside Bartleby.

Could he do it though? Despite the thoughtless, selfish desire the pain of hell had brought to him, he still felt a connection to Loki. The two had been best friends for thousands of years—until Bartleby had turned a knife on his friend and murdered a weakened Loki as he staggered around drunkenly in human form. Everything since then had reinforced his decision to kill his friend, to murder his closest companion. Those in hell were fond of treason, deception, and slaughter. Nonetheless, the thought had never left his mind that maybe, just maybe, he should have listened to his friend. But was that thought remnants of his anglelic conscience, or a torturous concept implanted into his memory by Lucifer for the sole purpose of making him miserable?

Azrael snapped his fingers a few inches in front of Bartleby's nose, jolting the former angel out of his thoughts. "Wake up, asshole." The demon leaned forward, bringing his face uncomfortably close to his companion's. "This isn't going to be a problem for you?"

"No, not at all," Bartleby answered sternly. "Shouldn't be a big issue anyway." The fallen angel rolled his eyes. "Loki is the kind of guy that will stare at his orange juice for an hour because the box says concentrate."

Azrael did not appear amused. "No," the demon responded, drawing out the word for emphasis. "He may be a fool, but the Scion is not. And the fact that Loki is already there means the powers that be must have some inkling of what is going on."

"I thought you said we had that covered—that he didn't know what was going on? Isn't the whole reason we split up these last few days?" Bartleby asked with irritation.

"He shouldn't know anything—but apparently he does. And I don't know exactly what that is, so we need to be even more careful." An evil smile crept onto Azrael's lips. "The plan remains the same—but we get a pawn to take out the Scions while we take care of our business."

"That's your solution, fucking outsourcing? Why not just kill the bitch ourselves?"

Azrael rolled his eyes—the arrogance of the former angel never ceased to amaze him. "First of all, my ignorant friend, that would give away our positions. Second of all, if Loki or some other fucking angel manages to beat the shit out of us, were back in hell and this is all for naught."

"But the Scions are the ultimate liability to the mission—and you want to trust some random person to take care of them?"

"Some random person can do much better than us, provided they are without sin. We find someone who has done nothing wrong, and Loki can't touch them. He can try to stop them, he can get in the way—but he can't risk mortally wounding them, and that gives our pawn a distinct advantage. Only as the Scions lie dying on the floor will Loki be able to stop our man. And by then, it will be too late."

"But what about the almighty? If he decides to fuck around in this it doesn't matter if we kill the Scions or not—they'll be back in a few days, as soon as God gets around to helping them."

Azrael smiled again. "A few days are all we need."

"So who is this pawn?" Bartleby inquired.

"We need someone who is without sin—preferably someone with the resources to complete their mission without help. That helps us avoid suspicion. Someone who, for whatever reason, will be obliged to complete our orders exactly as we give them. That might be tough—people without sin generally don't like to commit murder just because someone says so. Perhaps someone who is very unhappy, just looking for purpose—"

"Terrified of the consequences of not doing as we say," Bartleby interjected.

"That would do."

The former Angel's mouth slowly snaked into a villainous grin. "I know just the person."


End file.
